Iron Fic: Battle Wizarding Wireless Network
by Chairman's Apprentice
Summary: Two contestants had twenty four hours to write a story using the secret ingredient "Wizarding Wireless Network".
1. Chapter 1

Episodes

Every baby is special, and Molly loves every one of her grandchildren, but this baby is perhaps extra special. She holds him tenderly, stroking the downy hair with one finger, marvelling anew at the miracle of new life. The radio is playing, but it is unfamiliar. The Wizarding Wireless Network has provided the soundtrack for her life, but George, being George, has modified this wireless set to pick up Muggle stations. The song currently playing is hauntingly appropriate – "Isn't she lovely? Less than one minute old." Change the pronoun and it would be perfect. The little boy, less than an hour old, opens wide brown eyes and gazes up at his grandmother.

"Hello, Fred," she says.

WWN

Her mother always has the wireless on. Watching her cook, playing with her brothers on the rug before the fire, struggling with her letters and numbers at the kitchen table, there is always the murmur of voices or the sound of music in the background. For Molly, it feels like the sound of home. Her mother's favourite programme is "The Witching Hour", and Molly joins her waltzing around the kitchen to the songs of Marissa Maretti, Lulu LeVarre, Scarlett Tatti, and – best of all – Celestina Warbeck. Fabian and Gideon laugh at them, pretending to dance too, and howling like dogs in time with the music. Molly frowns and yells at them to be quiet, but their mother just laughs and says, "boys will be boys". When the programme is over, she gives all three of them all hot chocolate with marshmallows and extra cream.

WWN

There are some moments you remember forever, and songs that will always be associated with one particular time and place. When Molly thinks of her brothers now, there are two memories and two songs that stand out.

It is Christmas Eve – their last one together, though of course none of them know that. The children are toasting marshmallows by the fire, with Bill vainly trying to keep the twins in order and Charlie eating more than his fair share. Little Ronnie is yelling because no one will lift him out of the playpen. Fabian and Dorcas have just announced their engagement and Molly is admiring the ring. "Joy to the world" is playing on the wireless. Now, when she hears that carol, Molly is transported back to her warm and cosy kitchen, she hears the children laughing and sees the smile on Fabian's proud face, she even tastes the eggnog they were drinking. It makes her smile, but then it makes her cry a little.

It is summertime, and Ginny is just days old. Molly is dancing around the kitchen to Celestina Warbeck's "You make my world magical" with the baby in her arms. Ginny seems to be as bad as Charlie was at going to sleep when she needs to. The door opens and Arthur comes in looking grave. It is the middle of the day; he should not be home now. He smiles sadly at Molly and leads her to a chair before telling her, but she knew when she saw his face. Her brothers are dead. The music continues as if nothing at happened, as if part of her world had not fallen away forever, and she cannot stand it. She hands the baby to Arthur, walks over and switches the wireless off. The silence is unbearable. She walks out of the room and up the stairs to her bedroom, walking like an old woman. Arthur lets her go. Now, "You make my world magical" is the only Celestina Warbeck song Molly cannot listen to. She turns the wireless off sharply if she hears the first familiar notes. Even they are enough to make her cry.

WWN

"In France," Fleur says loudly, drowning out the voice of Marla Flady, who is being interviewed on "Witch Around the House" about the best spell to keep your kitchen sink really shiny, "we 'ave wireless programmes about matters which are more interesting zan zis. I 'eard one last week about 'ow to make your man 'appy in bed." She smiles serenely at her reflection in the back of a spoon. "Of course, I do not need such advice myself, but I sink it may be 'elpful for ze more ordinary witches."

She looks at Molly for a response, but Molly can think of nothing to say. She is not sure she can bear having this opinionated and self-assured young woman for a daughter-in-law. What on earth does Bill see in her?

WWN

It is just the five of them at tea – Molly and Arthur with her brothers on the other side of the table, laughing and making jokes and eating slice after slice of her homemade bread, and Billy in his high chair looking on and smearing jam in his hair and trying to join in the conversation. It is less than a fortnight until Christmas, but the voice on the wireless is sombre, intoning dire warnings about dark forces and the increasing threat from an evil wizard the announcer is reluctant to name.

Molly frowns as Billy, who is obviously paying more attention to the wireless than any of the adults, triumphantly throws his plate on the floor and shouts. "Oo know oo!" at the top of his voice. She gets up to switch the wireless off and to put more water in the teapot and feels a twinge as she does so, followed by a distinct "pop" as her waters break. It seems that this baby, not due for another month, is keen to make his or her appearance.

More than keen. By the time the midwitch, hastily Flooed by Gideon, holding a squirming Billy firmly to keep him out of the way, has arrived, baby Charlie has been born on the rug in front of the fire. Arthur caught the baby, while Fabian held his sister's hands and tried not to look at what was happening. Ever after, Fabian maintains that Gideon, who is covered with jam from holding a very sticky toddler, and who has been yelled at and had his hair pulled for his trouble (because Billy knew something was going on, and was very cross at missing it), had the best of the deal.

The midwitch tidies things up and establishes Molly in her bed with the new baby beside her. Billy is carried in by his father to meet his new brother. He regards him critically.

"Baby go now," he says seriously.

Downstairs, Fabian and Gideon are toasting heir new nephew with Firewhisky. The wireless news has moved on to the crowds of Christmas shoppers in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, and to warnings for wizards and witches to beware of cheap Muggle novelties sold by unscrupulous dealers. Neither of them are listening. They buy Arthur a Muggle remote-controlled car for Christmas, and he loves it, even though he cannot make it work.

WWN

They have the wireless on in an effort to distract themselves, but it is not working. They managed to concentrate on the news, which was depressing enough, but the current programme – a weekly Ministry-sponsored one about keeping yourself and your family safe – cannot engage them. Molly and Ginny know the theory well enough, but right now the larger part of their family is anything but safe. Molly has washed the plates and dishes in the sink by hand, just to give herself something to do, and is now drying them, her gaze moving to the window every few minutes. Why is no one back by now? Ginny cannot keep still, walking from the fireplace to the back door to the window to the fireplace in a never-ending circle.

Eventually she speaks. "They should be back by now," she says jerkily. "Some of them at least."

Molly's mouth is dry, and she has to swallow before answering. She switches the wireless off and the silence feels loud around them.

"I know," she says at last. "Ron and Tonks and your father and Fred."

Something must have happened. She does not say it, but they are both thinking it.

There is a noise outside and they both rush to the door.

"Harry and Hagrid!" Ginny screams. Her mother is already running towards them.

WWN

After Percy has gone, and the sound of the slammed door has stopped ringing in everyone's ears, the only sound is of Molly crying. Even Fred and George can think of nothing to say. Arthur walks over and puts his arms around his wife.

"Don't cry, Molly," he says bleakly. "He'll come round. Just give him time."

Behind his back, Ron, Ginny and the twins exchange looks. They don't believe it, any more than their parents do.

George walks over and switches on the wireless. The sound of The Weird Sisters' "Do the Hippogriff" spills into the kitchen. It is jarring, but at least it fills the silence.

WWN

They say you always remember where you were when you hear this type of news. Molly remembers exactly where she was.

She is comforting Percy, who has had a nightmare with hot chocolate and cuddles, while Arthur walks to and fro with baby Ginny, who is yelling to be fed. Arthur has put the wireless on in the hope that the evening music programme will soothe the children. It does not seem to be working. Bill appears at the kitchen door, in his pyjamas and rubbing his eyes.

"Wha's goin' on?"

"Nothing, son," Arthur says reassuringly. "Go back to bed."

Instead, Bill walks across to his father and takes the screaming baby from him. She stops crying immediately and smiles up at him. As a result, they hear the news as soon as anyone else in the wizarding world.

"We interrupt this programme to bring you a special news item. It seems that the wizard known as…" There is a pause and they distinctly hear the announcer swallow. "Lord Voldemort, more commonly known as You Know Who has been defeated. Details are sketchy, but it appears that Mr and Mrs James Potter of Godric's Hollow died in an attack by You – by Voldemort – earlier this evening. Their infant son, Harry, survived the attack, and V-Voldemort seems to have been killed. A friend of the Potter family, Sirius Black, is reported to have been arrested following an incident in a Muggle street. The whereabouts of Harry Potter are at this point unknown. More details when we have them."

Molly, Arthur and Bill look at each other open-mouthed.

"He's dead?" Bill asks. "He's really dead?"

Arthur nods. "Seems like it, son." His voice is hoarse.

There are a series of thuds on the stairs, and Charlie appears carrying Ron and followed by the twins.

"Is it morning?" the twins chorus.

"Can we have pancakes?" Charlie asks.

Molly wipes her eyes surreptitiously and goes to the pantry for flour, milk and eggs.

WWN

Every baby is special, but this baby is perhaps extra special. A first grandchild, and born on such a day. Molly holds her tenderly, stroking the downy hair with one finger, marvelling at the miracle of new life. The door opens quietly and George enters.

"Can I hold her?" he asks. "I promise I won't drop her."

Molly nods and indicates the chair next to her own. She hands the baby over carefully.

"Mind her head."

"I know, I know. Bill told me at least four times."

The wireless is playing quietly in the background, the announcer reading out a long list of names of those who died in the fight against the dark. When "Fred Weasley" is read out, George leans his head on his mother's shoulder. The baby opens her eyes and looks up at them.

"Hello, Victoire," Molly says. "I'm your Granny and this is your Uncle George."

George smiles down at the baby, and his smile, on this day of all days, is a kind of victory in itself.

In the background, the wireless announcer continues reading the long list of names.

FIN


	2. Chapter 2

On the Wireless

"... but one's journey is born on the path where destiny has disapparated..."

Ginny squinted at the wireless. _Can words scramble over radio waves? Merlin_. Her last day of practice, and her captain decides to play Divination Class, making them listen to this rubbish. She chewed on her bottom lip and looked out of the corner of her eyes at Juliet Wood. Juliet's shoulders were shaking, her hand at her forehead, shielding her face from the front of the locker room.

"Balance will birth our essences and baptize harmonious union."

 _Have to remember that one later for Harry._ Ginny put her hand on her belly and scratched absently at the itchy tautness of it. There were witches who'd flown through their whole pregnancies; Aoife Quinn played Beater in a World Cup match hours before giving birth. Of course, she'd not known she was pregnant at the time. There was no doubt Ginny Potter was pregnant though; it was the sort of pregnancy that generated questions from shop clerks and advice from random people on the street, as though she belonged to them, waiting for their guidance. Small Ginny Potter, her belly so distended from the twins growing inside her that it took effort to reach for the broom handle. And she had weeks of pregnancy to go. With James, she was this big almost at the end, she feared.

"...the power within you is a spiritual water. Properly channeled, it may cut stone and shape mountains..."

The hand over Juliet's eyes smothered a loud snort, which she lamely covered with a dry cough.

"Shouldn't have had that tea. Wish he'd stop talking about spiritual water," Ginny breathed, and Juliet put her head down on the table, no longer able to contain her laughter.

"You can laugh all you want, Wood," barked Gemma Ainsworth, "but Puddlemere use his program, and they are at the top of the league!"

Juliet wiped her eyes, "Ah, sorry, Gemma." She looked at the rest of the team, who appeared to be half-asleep. "Maybe we can just run through some plays for a bit?"

Ginny looked at the clock and leaned in to whisper to Juliet. "I'm off to St. Mungo's to talk about this harmonious mountain I'm birthing."

"Stop!" Juliet giggled and waved her off while looking in her bag for a tissue. She sobered slightly. "See you soon, Gin."

Ginny smiled and stood up with a slow stretch, turning the wireless off on her way out the door.

 **..oO0Oo..**

Harry was waiting for her in the lobby of St. Mungo's. He had his nose in a copy of _Witch Weekly_ , and he didn't notice her approach.

"Balance will birth our essences and baptize harmonious union."

Harry started and looked up at her, his blank surprise melting into a smile. "I just read that. I thought I needed a new prescription on my glasses."

"Nope. Just listened to the drivel for a solid hour. That Vablatsky bloke really is cashing in on his grandmother's name, isn't he?"

Harry polished his glasses on his robes. "Maybe I'm taking my work home with me, but I sort of wonder if he's numbing us all to an attempt at world domination. We will all be too busy being confused to notice."

"Seemed to make perfect sense to Gemma," Ginny muttered. "But so does copying from Puddlemere's playbook." She shrugged, and Harry smiled at her sympathetically, putting his arm around his wife, letting her lean into him as he kissed her hair.

"Sorry that was your last practice, Gin."

Ginny smiled a quiet, tired smile. "It's okay. I've a good reason to stop for a while."

 **..o0O0o..**

The Healer scratched a few notes on the chart and tapped her chin absently with her wand. She sat for a moment, letting her gaze wander absently in thought. Ginny and Harry had a wordless, nervous conversation with their eyes. The Weird Sisters scratched a tinny, faint tune from a speaker in the wall.

"We talked about bed rest being a possibility," the Healer said, her thin voice sounding loud after its absence. "It's our plan now. We need to keep those two in there as long as possible. They will be crawling around your house soon enough as it is!" The Healer laughed at her joke, and Harry squeezed Ginny's hand, watching her face pale.

They left St. Mungo's for home with pamphlets of instructions and a weary nervousness they hadn't felt before. Harry walked Ginny to their bed and assembled things from the house for her. He was reminded of the last time Teddy was here, following his godson around the house as the little boy gathered provisions for an afternoon under the dining room table, James toddling behind. He supposed Ginny wouldn't want a stuffed Horntail and a stack of Martin Miggs comics, but she might be keen for the Jaffa cakes.

For her part, Ginny was struggling not to cry frustrated tears. She wished she could dash around and get what she wanted instead of testing Harry's patience; its limitlessness was somehow irritating in its own right. She forced a smile as he came back, breathless, with books and magazines, a carafe of water, the wireless bobbing in his wake.

He sat on the bed and picked two biscuits out of the packet, handing her one. She nibbled at it, smiling for him a smile that stopped before it reached her eyes. There was only so much she could do.

"I owled your mum, Gin." She's stopping by in a bit with James."

"You should head back to work."

Harry sighed. "I guess so. Send me an owl if you think of anything we need from the shops."

 **..o0O0o..**

Ginny missed Harry the moment he stepped into the Floo; she felt tetchy and low for her impatience with him. She hoped he couldn't feel it. This had to be terrifying for him, for he confessed once on one of their long, honeymoon hikes that he could never have a clock like the one at The Burrow. He'd check it obsessively.

She preferred Harry's company to her mum's; on some visits she still felt fifteen. But this second pregnancy opened a kinship with her mother she hadn't had before. Molly didn't need to prove her skill or knowledge of mothering with advice; her children were her testimony. Mum, who was always fretting over the ironing or a son who refused a haircut, had grown remarkably calm and inwardly philosophical about life.

 _Perhaps she's been listening to Vablatsky._ Ginny snorted and rubbed her eyes, the fatigue washing over her in sick waves she could no longer fight off with a bracing broom ride. She made a silent prayer of thanks for James' nap time. James, a blur of glee, slept as intensely as he did everything else.

She awoke later to the noise of housekeeping downstairs; she could hear cabinets thudding shut, something being whisked in a bowl. She blinked at the clock and wondered how fuzzy the coming months would be staring at these four walls. Maybe she could move to the couch. She gathered her energy with a sigh and called out a hello to her mother as she turned on the wireless for the news. Two hours of bed rest, and she already felt the world spin on without her. _Ridiculous._

Her mother sailed into the room, levitating a tray, her knitting tucked under her arm. "Well, here we are, Ginevra. What's it going to be? Cards? Poetry? Crosswords? This is when I learned to knit, sitting on a couch with Fred and George leaning on my bladder." She smiled.

"You didn't tell me you were on bed rest with the twins."

Her mother cocked an eyebrow. "Would you have wanted me to?"

"Suppose not." Ginny pulled a cup of tea off the tray and murmured her thanks. "So you learned to knit?"

"I had to do something. Aunt Muriel was barking at the boys, and I couldn't get up to sort anything properly. Percy brought me picture books to read to him, but I did a lot of knitting. And thinking up baby names. Your poor father would come home from work, and I would start in on him. _What about Balthazar?"_ She chuckled.

Ginny smiled. "We've already settled on names. Harry was lobbying for Albus Severus." She looked up to watch her mother smooth her face into a polite indifference. "I thought he was mad until he explained why. And then I thought it was sad. Too much loss."

Molly picked up a cup of tea and smiled softly at the quilt, thinking. "I suppose." She looked at Ginny. "Are you telling me what you've decided?"

Ginny nodded, suddenly shy at the telling. "Gideon. Fabian."

The wireless was playing an old song her mother would sing to herself while she was kneading bread. Ginny wanted to ask her what it was, but Molly held her cup still, midway to her lips, her face expressionless. "That's lovely."

Ginny wondered if she imagined the flatness to her voice.

 **..o0O0o..**

Harry had taken his worry at leaving Ginny and channeled it into organizing a steady flow of people moving in and out of Grimmauld Place in addition to the tireless presence of her mum. Ginny had protested that she was quite comfortable with her own company, a snuggle with James or the drone of the wireless, like a faceless set of friends over for tea, but she had to admit that she needed it all, Parvati with her ridiculous stack of Muggle gossip magazines and nail polish, Hermione with her dense novels, and even a random visit from Seamus Finnegan, who smoothed over his discomfort at being ushered into her bedroom by telling her filthy jokes which left them both laughing in gasps, gulping for air, the tears from her laughter ready to be spilled for a dozen other reasons.

Her brothers orbited her in a consistent rotation, marking the days, and today it was George who sat with James on his lap and dumped a purple carrier bag of lurid boxes onto her bed. He had her examine each in turn, and he paid careful attention to the opinions of this focus group of one.

She couldn't be pressed to reveal her favorite brother, even to herself, but George was her favourite visitor; Bill gave tiresome advice, Percy would fuss nervously, and Ron, despite his kindness, his flowers and kisses on her forehead, went home to a cottage with a spare room they couldn't yet fill. Hermione was pregnant again, but he'd stopped telling people after the first.

George and Angelina had been married a year, and he made a point to tell his sister frequently that her condition was the best birth control he could possibly imagine.

She read the label on the canister in her hand. "If the stench comes first, the explosion will be less of a surprise. Can you make it go the other way 'round?"

George nodded. "Are you sure you don't want to join the business?"

"Mmmm." Ginny rolled her eyes and reached over to flip on the wireless. She liked listening to Lee Jordan's rush hour banter; it reminded her of summer afternoons at the Burrow.

She'd caught Lee mid-story, laughing to a small, cackling studio audience. Some aside he'd made about a Bludger battered to the point of looking like Umbridge made her giggle, and she looked over, waiting for George to punch up the joke for her. She froze at the look of raw grief on his face.

"Turn it off please, Gin," he whispered.

She nodded and flicked her wand, the room heavy and silent. She stared at him, afraid to talk, willing herself not to look away. George had survived the loss of his brother simply by waking up every day, tackling the tasks he used to nag Fred to get on with. They all had their private grief though, and George's was a kind that they feared and revered—it demanded space, no _I know it's tough,_ no _I can only imagine_.

"I can't listen to him on the wireless. I don't know exactly why." He paused and stared out the window. "Once we'd figured out how to make a broadcast, we'd wait days to be safe. The rush of being on air. The rebellion of it." He shook his head and sniffed a laugh. "We were so angry. So afraid. We'd get out what we could and wait an hour, maybe two, to get caught. Then we'd pull out the firewhisky when nobody came for us." He shrugged, and she nodded, agreeing to or understanding she didn't know what. He handed her another package.

She looked at her hands holding the box. Her hands, already losing their calluses earned from flying. She already knew they would never be returning.

"We want to name the boys Fabian and Gideon."

He looked at her, holding things out of her sight. "Have you told Mum?"

Ginny nodded. "She said it was lovely."

George looked at the clock on her dressing table.

 **..o0O0o..**

Time, which had for the past many weeks slid this way and that, gathered all its broken rules and left, taking the smallest of the Potter babies with it. People had been horrified to hear of it. _Those poor Weasleys. There must be a twin curse._ _Potter has suffered enough, I tell you._ The morning news programme clucked in grief before going to commercial.

Ginny woke from her last of many days in hospital, roused by the little grunts coming from the blanket in Harry's arms. Harry was sound asleep, his arms clamped protectively around his new son, the one twin that he couldn't let get away.

She pulled herself out of bed carefully, feeling every muscle ache with exertion. She gently coaxed the baby from Harry's hold, waking him long enough to reassure him he could let go.

She sat in bed and nestled the boy in her lap facing her. The tuft of black hair was Harry's, and the Healer, as sick of death as the rest of them were, had taken an unusual pleasure from the cloudy eyes that hinted green. _Bright green, they'll be. Just like his dad's._

She smiled at her son's loveliness. Sweet, cuddly James demanded attention from the moment he arrived; his loud wail was the joyful stuff of Weasley legend. This quiet little one had every Healer on the floor looking him over to make absolute sure what had taken his brother couldn't possibly come for him. He wasn't meant to be here this early, but the Healers thought he'd be able to go home soon. But still, when he cried, everyone knelt to see what it meant.

Ginny thought about the tiny blue fingers she'd kissed away, wondered what her son here with her was thinking.

In the dull aching hours after they'd said goodbye to Gideon Fabian Potter, she clung to the baby who'd lived, feeling only his warmth. She wasn't even sure she remembered what she'd said to James. "Only one brother is coming home. Just the one, James."

She'd never seen Harry look so tired or sad. He had turned to her with effort she'd known was painful, and he'd said, "We need a name." He hadn't needed to say it. The moment the shock had slipped from its balance, pulling them down with its weight, the child had named himself.

Once, it had seemed pitiful, burdening a new child with such a name, two sad men fighting grief their whole lives, born with it, dying with it. _But now. But now._

"It's okay now, Harry. It's right. It's good."

She heard the soft hum of the wireless covering the footfalls and murmurings of the Healers. And just there it was—she heard the song her mother used to sing, the one she'd almost asked about before she'd decided against it. It came to her suddenly, poking through the fog in a surprising loop of memory, and it played for her now. Albus watched her as she began to sing.


End file.
